Chuck vs the Man in Black
by mxpw
Summary: A search for an illegal gun shipment finds Chuck in a bit of a lethal situation. Maybe he'll finally decide just to stay in the car. Centers mostly on Chuck/Sarah, with bits of Casey thrown in for fun.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: The premise behind this story is rather simple. I figure, it's only a matter of time before something bad happens to Chuck. Considering the set-up of the show and the way he constantly gets himself in trouble, I see it as rather inevitable. This story is simply a depiction of that.

**Warning**: There are slightly more graphic depictions of violence than can be found on the show. Also, probably some language.

* * *

When Chuck dropped to the ground, there was an audible pop as his right elbow smashed into the unforgiving concrete. He still had no idea how to fall properly. Even over the gunfire, yelling, and the blood pounding in his ears, the hollow sounding collision made Chuck's teeth ache. It was as much a reaction to a perceived pain stimulus as it was genuine pain. 

The initial plan, so much as it could be called a plan, was to rush to the protective bulwark of the nearest shipping container. He had made it about eight feet, then found himself dropping to the ground as one of the masked gunrunners stepped in front of him. It had been completely involuntary. He hadn't meant to drop to the unforgiving concrete, it had just _happened _(his survival instinct was Spiderman-esque).

When he hit the ground, he rolled, also involuntarily. His left hand immediately cradled his right elbow, rolling onto his left shoulder and doing his best to protect his suddenly painful arm. The gunrunner dropped to the ground, although his descent was precipitated by a far more fatal occurrence than Chuck's. Chuck had just enough time to watch a spurt of blood escape from the man's upper chest before he started crawling to his original destination.

Chuck huddled next to the enormous metal container, making sure all of his body was protected by his new metal shield. If possible, the gunfire seemed to intensify; probably more combatants entering the fray.

Chuck took a deep breath and wiped his forehead with his left hand. His right arm was still mostly useless, held close to his chest. He wasn't sure if his arm was broken or if he was just suffering from a rather severe irritation of his funny bone. He put his arm out of his mind.

He had no idea how things had gotten so bad, but then he usually never did. Due to intel garnered from his flashes, Team Bartowski was in search of a weapons cache being smuggled into the country by a Chechen gunrunner (or a terrorist, Chuck still wasn't sure which term suited Razman Basayev best). They had no idea the size, type, or lethality of the weapons involved. All they really knew was that it was probably big and very dangerous, which Chuck thought went without saying (it was a _weapons_ cache after all). One minute the three of them were checking a shipping container Chuck had been confident held their target, the next they were being shot at from masked men that apparently congealed out of the ground. Sarah had immediately pushed him inside the open and very empty container, sternly telling him "Don't leave here under any circumstances" and then slammed the door shut on him. He had been completely manhandled and had been too stunned to react.

Of course he had not listened. He never listened. It wasn't like he enjoyed putting his life in jeopardy, but he just couldn't help himself. It was some strange compulsion he couldn't explain. He suspected much of it had to do with a certain blonde haired agent, but he knew even that wasn't a good enough explanation for why he did what he did. He just couldn't sit idly by while people he cared about risked their lives for the greater good. He had always been a bit of a romantic in that aspect. Chuck just _had_ to help, even if it meant being stupid. His contribution was usually meager in comparison but sometimes the situation called for his somewhat unique perspective and skill set (it wasn't like just anybody could reprogram a missile guidance system on the fly).

He had long ago left the embrace of the empty shipping container and had forayed hesitantly, very hesitantly (he wasn't Superman or Bryce), into the ensuing gun battle. And a gun battle it was. Chuck had no idea how many bad guys there were (his guess was _a lot_) but he and his handlers had not come alone, and the fellow CIA and NSA agents trolling the warehouse and storage area for weapons were more than likely now engaged with his assailants; which helped to explain the still bleeding man not more than six feet from him (Chuck briefly considered crawling toward the downed gunmen and grabbing his weapon, but quickly discounted the idea as ludicrous, not to mention potentially detrimental to his own health).

Chuck was fairly positive Casey or Sarah were not responsible for the downed gunman, as he was far removed from the container he'd been shoved into and he hadn't seen either of his handlers since the battle began. That was probably a good thing as Sarah would have torn him a new asshole for risking his life and Casey might have done something extreme, like knock him unconscious to prevent further injury due to his own stupidity. It had likely been one of the good guys; Chuck made a mental note to find out whom and thank them later; quietly and unobtrusively.

The huge metal door of the container he was leaning on suddenly swung out. Chuck stilled, his breath fading fast. He slunk to the ground as quietly as he could, lying on his stomach. A pair of booted feet came into view under the edge of the door; one foot moved carefully forward. Chuck saw a hand grab the door and slowly start to pull the door back; whoever it was, they were leaving their hiding space.

This was it, Chuck knew. He could just feel it. This had to be where the weapons were, and of course he had stumbled upon it through sheer blind luck. There was only one problem, the small matter of the rather large man now surveying the embattled warehouse. He held what looked like an assault rifle close to his shoulder (Chuck vaguely recognized the shape of the gun from the newest _Call of Duty_ game). That was bad.

Chuck inched forward, doing his best to maintain total silence. The man had not bothered to give his immediate area much close inspection, but Chuck figured it was only a matter of time before the man noticed him just sitting there. It was time to get proactive, time to finally do his own ass kicking, time to prove he wasn't so physically inept, time – Chuck slithered a little too loud and the man looked down. His eyes widened slightly, his rifle automatically swinging around to point at Chuck, and Chuck did the only thing he could do, he screamed for help, any kind of help (like a little girl).

To Chuck's amazement, his scream for help worked better than he ever expected. The man froze, in astonishment or amusement or fear, whatever the reason, his motion halted, giving Chuck enough time to spring to his feet and rush forward. He hit the man solidly in his chest with his good shoulder and both tumbled to the ground. A scrum broke out for the gun, but with only one fully functional arm, Chuck was at a serious disadvantage (not that his uncoordinated flailing limbs didn't provide suitable confusion in the man). The man promptly pushed Chuck away from himself, and reached to his hip where he quickly brandished a knife.

Chuck backed away, the man duck-walked forward, knife glinting in the gently fading light of the day. "Hey, hey, can we maybe talk about this?" The man merely continued forward, Chuck continued backward. "I mean, shouldn't we maybe get to know each other a little better before we resort to stabbing?"

The man barked out harshly in a language Chuck didn't understand (it was probably Chechen), a cruel smile adorning his face.

Chuck paled and felt his back hit the front of the shipping container. Trapped. "Right, so I guess that's a no."

And then there she was. His beautiful, perfect, golden guardian angel swooped down upon the knife-wielding man without mercy or hesitation. Chuck knew intellectually that the woman he found himself increasingly captivated with was a highly trained and deadly weapon (he had the flashes to prove it), but he had never really seen just how lethal she could be firsthand and in horrible Technicolor. What seemed instantaneous to him was nothing but a blur of limbs and grunts of pain and exertion; the knife-wielding man falling backwards, his legs trapped underneath his body at an odd angle, his own knife embedded deep in his throat. A couple of wet gurgles escaped the man's mouth, and Chuck had to turn away.

Sarah turned on Chuck immediately, already forgetting the man she had just killed, grabbing hold of his shirt and hauling him to his feet, pure fury etched on her face. "I can't _believe_ you. You never learn! What the Hell were you thinking?"

Chuck did the only thing he could do, he blushed deeply, avoiding Sarah's eyes at all cost, and babbled incoherently. "Sorry! I'm sorry! I just thought – you were out there and I – "

"You can be so stupid, Chuck! When I told you not to move, I meant it." There was the slightest hint of a tremor in her stern voice, and Chuck shot his head up to focus on her face.

He had to instantly look away again, the intensity and emotions in Sarah's eyes was completely intimidating. There was anger there, but also a boiling mishmash of fear, worry, longing, desperation, gratitude; Chuck only felt even more ashamed. She always had the power to make him feel like such an idiot. He felt her arms close around him, pulling him flush against her body. Her breathing was heavy and fast, her arms trembled as they tightened painfully around him, and her chin rested briefly on his shoulder. Soon, her careful hands began coursing up and down his body; Chuck could not stop the slight shiver that wracked his body.

Sarah took in a long, shaky breath, and pulled away from him almost as fast as she had hugged him, a tinge of red coloring her face. She did not look at him for several seconds, but when she did, she looked him steadily in the eyes, face again stern and angry, but tempered by the usual concerned look in her eyes she seemed to reserve only for him. "Are you okay?" Her hands were still idly searching his body.

"I think I broke my arm."

Sarah moved her curious hands to his right arm, looking sympathetic. "It doesn't feel broken. You might have popped your elbow." Sarah sighed and Chuck got the distinct impression that she was now more annoyed with him than anything else. "What are you even doing out here?"

Chuck saw an opportunity to move the focus from him to the mission. If he got her back on track, maybe he could put off his inevitable ass chewing until he was safely ensconced in the warm embrace of heavy painkillers. "I think I found the container where the weapons are."

Sarah's eyes widened slightly. "Really?"

Chuck nodded and reached back with his left hand to knock on the shipping container behind him. "I think they're in here."

Sarah carefully maneuvered around him, her body angled so that she could keep at least part of her body facing away from the container and toward any potential threats. "You are not to leave my sight, do you understand?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Chuck had every intention of doing what he was told now.

Sarah grunted disbelievingly and tentatively pulled the container door open, gun leading. As soon as the container was open enough for her to slip inside, she inspected the container. "Chuck, get in here." There was still a definite edge to her voice.

Chuck did his best to shuffle inside as quickly as he could. Chuck could see several very large crates arranged on several pallets. Right away Chuck flashed on the wooden crates, body going stiff, and sucked in a breath. "These are it."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Good work, Chuck." Sarah smiled brightly at him and suddenly Chuck's arm no longer hurt quite as much. "Casey, I think we've found the guns. We're about 100 yards southwest of your position, near the crane." Sarah struggled to pull one of the nearest wooden crates to her feet, but she could barely move it. Giving up, she began working on the lid instead.

A flash overcame Chuck like a punch to the gut. The box Sarah was tampering with centered in his mind, screaming danger. "Sarah, wait!"

Sarah stopped moving immediately. "Chuck?"

"Don't open it! Bomb!"

Sarah blinked and pulled her hands away from the crate like they had been burned. "Bomb?"

Chuck nodded his head vigorously. "Bomb! Very, very, very big bomb."

Sarah paled and looked at the crate that came up to about her stomach. "Do you know what kind?"

Chuck shook his head and walked up to stand next to Sarah, looking down at the very offending crate.

"You need to leave, Chuck." Sarah turned to him and grabbed his upper arm with a firm grip. "You need to go now."

"What? No! I'm not leaving you. We don't even know if it's set to go off!" Chuck glared at Sarah, standing firm and defiant. How could she even think of asking him to leave? Hadn't they already been through this once before? Didn't she remember what happened then (Chuck certainly remembered)?

Sarah narrowed her eyes, her grip tightened and she gritted her teeth. "Don't argue with me, do what I say!" She started to drag him toward the container's exit.

Chuck brought his left hand up and somehow (he really had no idea how) knocked Sarah's hand from his arm. He took a step back, putting some distance between the two. "I didn't leave you before, what makes you think you can make me leave this time?"

It was a testament to her skills as an actress that he almost didn't believe her, almost didn't believe the unvarnished desperation in her eyes (he'd been fooled by her before), when she looked directly into his own eyes, lowered her voice to an emotion-fuelled whisper, and pleaded "Chuck, please." It was all she said, and it was like the words settled themselves inside his stomach and tightened into an iron ball. It was that feeling of being on a rollercoaster and having your stomach completely drop out from you onto the ground. He had wanted to break away from her gaze; had wanted to appease her, but there was no way he could leave her to face this unknown situation on her own. So he didn't do anything, couldn't say any words, because they didn't really matter anymore. He wasn't going to leave, he _couldn't_; he wouldn't be the same Chuck Bartowski if he did. "I can't and you know it." Sarah's eyes closed in resignation and her whole body seemed to lose strength. "We will work this out together, but I promise if it – if it's like before, I'll go." He had to give her something; he'd never seen her look so helpless.

She perked up immediately, her eyes opening. "You promise?"

They didn't need to discuss what he meant, because they both already knew. "I promise." Chuck's words were soft, a whisper that soothed Sarah's tumultuous eyes.

Sarah whirled on the crate with a new sense of determination. She pulled a knife from within the folds of her clothes (someday, Chuck hoped to discover just how she hid those things) and carefully inserted the blade between the lid of the crate and the crate. Using enough leverage, she pried the top off just enough to peek inside. There was indeed a bomb.

Sarah pulled back up, a grim look on her face. "Casey, we need a bomb disposal team ASAP."

"There's a bomb?" Chuck could hear the exasperated tone come through clearly over his earpiece. He winced; Casey was decidedly unpleased.

"Looks like some kind of improvised FAE, but I can't be sure."

"Why is there always a bomb?" Casey mumbled a few other choice words over the com, before getting back on point. "All right, I'll put in the call. How much time do we have?"

Sarah didn't respond, instead looking at Chuck expectantly. Chuck shrugged his shoulder helplessly. Was she expecting some kind of miracle? "How the hell should I know? It's not like these ever make sense!" Chuck then pointed at his head.

"Why is Bartowski with you?"

Chuck's eyes widened and Sarah frowned. "He didn't listen. As usual."

"God damn stubborn idiot. Next time I'm going to tie him up and throw him in the trunk."

"I'll help."

Chuck glared at Sarah, but either she didn't notice or simply didn't care (he figured it was the second choice). "If I wasn't here, you wouldn't have known about the bomb until it was too late."

"At least you'd be safe."

Chuck was starting to feel heated, and took a step toward Sarah. Why was she starting this up again? They had more important things to worry about. "I'm safest whenever I'm with you."

The look of anger and frustration that had started to grow on Sarah's face quickly dissipated at his words. Wherever they had been going, they got back on track almost immediately after that (he had a gift like that). "Help me get this thing outside, there's not enough light in here."

Chuck just stared at her. "You want to try and disarm it? _Now_?" He could still hear the occasional pop of gunshots.

"Would you prefer waiting until after it's gone off?" Sarah arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and Chuck just shrugged his shoulder. Sarah rolled her eyes and moved to one end of the crate, motioning Chuck to take up position at the other end. Together, they began pushing the large crate toward the exit.

"I'm sorry."

Sarah sighed and looked up briefly to lock eyes with Chuck. "I know you are, but I just wish you'd think more carefully about what you do. You're too" Sarah paused, looked down, as if embarrassed, "valuable to put yourself in danger like this."

"Right, because of the Intersect." Chuck didn't bother to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"Not just because of that, Chuck."

They reached the lip of the container and began pushing the crate onto the cold concrete; Sarah didn't add anything to her somewhat cryptic response (Chuck wasn't sure he even wanted to think of the implications of Sarah's words at this moment anyway). For the next several seconds, the both of them concentrated solely on getting the crate outside. Once secure on the concrete, they pulled up to rest for a bit (Chuck's arm still hurt like a bitch). Sarah moved to stand in front of him; she looked like she had more to say. She cocked her right hip to lean against the crate, and started to open her mouth.

It was a mistake. In reality, only about ten seconds passed during the time they stopped to rest and when things went topsy-turvy. In that brief period, everything changed. In that time, Chuck thought about how aimless his life had been, how frequently he had let things escape him, how much he had wasted. He wasn't truly unhappy; he couldn't be, not with Sarah and Ellie (and Devon) and Morgan in his life, but there was so much more to life that he could be enjoying. He'd become complacent, afraid. The Intersect was a convenient excuse; how much could he really be expected to do, the goals that _he_ wanted to achieve, when he had to hold true to the whims of some indifferent puppeteer who only wanted to exploit him for their benefit? Besides, the Intersect had brought him Sarah.

There was so much to say about his stalwart and magnificent companion. She was as close to perfection as he'd ever experienced. Not because she was actually perfect, far from it actually; Chuck was well aware of her many flaws (her inability to tell him the smallest true detail about who she really was, was just the tip of the iceberg), but this only increased his admiration for her. She was a total puzzle, and Chuck was determined to figure her out. It's what made her right for him. He adamantly believed that. If only he could somehow convince her of the same belief.

To be honest, Chuck wasn't sure why he did it. He had always had a bit of an impulsive streak; he tended to act without really thinking through every faucet of every situation (but then who really did?). It wasn't very smart, it wasn't what he was _supposed_ to do, but he did it anyway, because he knew no other way. They had surprised each other; Chuck and Sarah standing one in front of the other, and a man dressed wearing a lot of black (so a bad guy) and holding a pistol in his right hand.

He just wished he had done more. That he hadn't let Bryce's betrayal get the best of him so thoroughly. He was stronger than that, wasn't he? Hadn't the last few months proved that? He had accomplished so many amazing things: landed a helicopter, disarmed a bomb, destroyed a vintage American car, all in the pursuit of something beyond himself. Still, he wished he had accomplished more with his life.

He hadn't meant to do it, he really hadn't. He knew it was wrong, but he just couldn't help himself. He pushed Sarah as hard as he could with his good arm; if he were some other guy, and this had been some other time, he might have had a small, albeit evil, chuckle at the look of total shock and betrayal on Sarah's face as she fell backwards, but all that popped into his head at that moment was: now what? Being completely unprepared for the force of Chuck's push, Sarah was unable to halt her fall even slightly, and her side and back impacted against the edge of the crate with a loud and nauseating crack. Chuck knew instantly something had broken. Pain contorted Sarah's face as she melted to the ground, a heap of bruised knees, wheezing breaths, and groans of discomfort.

Irrationally, Chuck desperately hoped that she wouldn't hold it against him. He had hurt her. _He_ had caused her pain. The idea instantly made him feel ill, or he would have felt so if he actually had the time to process the effects of her fall. Fortunately, her fall was probably the least of their worries.

But again, Chuck was struck by the thought of what now? He had done what he felt compelled to do, namely get Sarah out of the man's line of fire, but that put him squarely in it. In some way, Chuck figured his impulsive plan made sense. If this man, this man dressed in black and murder in his eyes, had shot Sarah, he would have ended up in the same place he was now, defenseless and waiting for the inevitable. With Sarah relatively out of harm's way, she might figure out some way to stop the man before he fired, or at the very least she would be safe (this meant more to him than he felt comfortable admitting at the moment). He probably would have never done it if he had had time to think about the action. Maybe. It wasn't like he wanted to get shot, and he knew in his head that it was Sarah's job to literally take a bullet for him if necessary, but he just couldn't let that happen. He just couldn't.

How had it even happened? How did Sarah not notice the strange man? She was usually so on top of her game. Chuck had tried on more than one occasion to sneak up on her, not seriously of course because that'd be impossible, but just to see what her capabilities were. Was he really that distracting a presence that she'd been so easily blindsided? He was starting to see her point about him staying in the car. He really was nothing but a hindrance. And how had he not noticed the man until it was too late? Was he really so enamored with Sarah that he couldn't see what was right in front of him?

The gun went off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Thank you to those who reviewed, I appreciate all your comments and hope you enjoy the latest chapter. I've seen some comments that the end of the last chapter was a bit confusing and disjointed, and I say good observation. This was done intentionally, but I'm sure I could have written it better. Thank you for any and all criticism, and hopefully I've done a better job in this chapter conveying what I wanted to. I find writing Sarah to be very difficult, and I'm not sure I did her justice. Hopefully, you will all let me know.

* * *

For every action there is a consequence. Often they're benign and unforeseen, and often people are completely unprepared for them. Yet Chuck knew what he was doing when he pushed Sarah away from him, and he certainly knew the consequences of his action. Newton's Third Law of Motion, broken down to its basic elements, is a cause must have an effect. This is always true; it is fundamental.

Chuck pushed Sarah, so Sarah fell, and the man in black was no longer aiming at Sarah, but Chuck. The man in black fired, and Chuck was hit center mass, falling to his knees in shock. With Chuck no longer standing, Casey's field of fire was no longer blocked, and he shot the man in black twice. The man in black spasmed, finger tightening on the trigger of his pistol, firing the gun one last time, before he in turn fell to his knees. Chuck was shot for a second time, and tipped over to his side like a downed tree to Sarah's feet. The man in black settled on the ground, unmoving. Casey remained the only one involved unharmed.

"Chuck!" Right arm held close to her side, her breath still wheezing in and out noticeably, Sarah contorted her body around so her head was now where her feet had been. There was blind panic written clearly across her face and she pulled herself to lean over Chuck's prone body. His eyes were still open, but unfocused and he was breathing rapidly and shallow. His left hand clawed ineffectually at his white shirt, apparently trying to tear the garment open.

"C-can't breathe." He was gasping and his voice was nothing more than a strained whisper.

Sarah frantically ripped his shirt apart, eyes desperate to see what she hoped she'd see. The man in black's first shot had not penetrated Chuck's vest, leaving a noticeable indentation. Sarah was so relieved at the sight she had to choke back a sob. That was until she remembered the second shot. Again frantic, her hands flew over Chuck's chest, searching for where the second shot had hit, praying Chuck would be okay.

The man in black's second shot had penetrated Chuck's vest at one of its most vulnerable points, high up his right side, just above his right kidney. A small pool of blood was forming beneath him; Chuck's hand still clawed at his chest.

"Oh God." Acting on ingrained behavior, she ripped into pieces part of Chuck's already ruined shirt and scrunched the torn fabric into a haphazard wad of cloth, pressing it mercilessly against the bleeding hole in Chuck's side. Chuck let out a pathetic whimper and fluttered his eyes. Sarah shut her own eyes harshly as the white fabric stained red, and she turned her head away from Chuck to dry heave several times. The pain from her wounded side combined with the terrifying sight of Chuck bleeding below her made it impossible to stop her roiling stomach. This was not happening.

The sound of rapidly approaching feet was like a bucket of ice water doused over her body. Sarah shook her head violently, sucked in a deep breath, and calmed herself. What was wrong with her? Chuck needed her and she couldn't hold it together? Now was not the time to breakdown, she could do that later when Chuck was safe. The Intersect is hurt, protect the Intersect. She repeated this over and over through her head. If she said it enough, she might even believe it. She couldn't think of Chuck as Chuck right now, she had to look at him as the mission and the mission only. She had to be professional; that was who Chuck needed, the professional agent, not a terrified, emotional woman on the verge of a breakdown. She took another deep breath and attempted to compartmentalize her out of control emotions. She was calm. She was in control.

Raising her gun into the air, she spun around to face the approaching person, the whole time not removing her hand from Chuck's side. They would have to use the Jaws of Life to make her leave Chuck. Nobody was taking her from him. She was perfectly ready to kill anyone who even tried. As long as she touched him, felt him move and breathe, then he was still alive and she could still help him. It would mean she hadn't failed, hadn't completely failed _him_.

The person approaching was Casey. He pulled up short, hands raised, gun pointing into the air. "Whoa, whoa, it's me, Walker."

Sarah stared at Casey, eyes unfocused for the briefest of seconds, before she nodded and lowered her weapon to the ground. "We need a medivac immediately. Chuck's been shot." She began tearing up more of Chuck's shirt for a fresh bandage.

Casey squatted down near Chuck, giving the gasping man his own once over. Sarah watched Chuck's eyes loll over to look at the looming NSA agent. There was relief in his eyes and something akin to gratitude. "Son of a bitch. What the hell happened?"

The look in Chuck's eyes made her ashamed. Casey could protect him, Casey could save him; what use was she? Chuck wasn't looking at her like that, because she hadn't done her job, because she hadn't kept him safe. Chuck was wrong, he wasn't safest whenever he was with her, he was better off with someone who didn't let their emotions get in the way of their work. It was her fault Chuck was laying on the ground bleeding. Her fault. Disgusted with herself, she pushed herself to her feet. When her hand left Chuck's side, he let out a groan, and she spat out a string of curses, crouching back down and moving her hand back. What was wrong with her? She couldn't do anything right. She needed to clear her head, but she didn't think that would happen anytime soon.

Looking up at Casey, angry and lost, she snarled frustratingly, "I don't know." She locked eyes with her partner, pleading with him to do something, _anything_, that would make this situation better. "We need to get him to a hospital." But Casey wasn't even listening to her, already barking orders for an immediate medivac.

Sarah watched Casey move about the scene, checking the man in black, giving the crate a cursory glance, continuing to demand the medics move faster. He was mumbling to himself; Sarah caught the occasional blurb, and almost smiled. Her partner was complaining about Chuck's amazing ability to always get himself in trouble. There was a strain to Casey's voice and Sarah knew, while the stoic man would never admit it, he was worried about Chuck too.

A tug on her arm brought her mind back to the one thing she didn't want to think about. "S-Sarah, I – I – "

The strain was obvious, both in his eyes and his voice. Sarah moved her free hand to his chest and carefully, tentatively began to loosen the vest. She was hesitant to remove it altogether; she was too afraid it might actually be helping to stint the damage of the second shot. She was fairly certain the first shot to Chuck's chest had caused his initial breathing problems; the impact had definitely knocked the wind out of him and may have even cracked a rib or two. After some difficulty, she managed to loosen it enough to where it was just resting on him. He looked at her with gratitude, his hand coming up to brush against her arm lightly. She sighed at the contact.

"Sarah, I – I – think you – "

Sarah shook her head, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear it." Chuck frowned, his brown eyes full of hurt and confusion. Sarah wanted to hit herself. She really couldn't do anything right today. That wasn't what she had meant to say, at least not so curtly. She had no interest in hearing Chuck give some kind of deathbed confession. No interest whatsoever. Because Chuck was _not_ going to die. He wasn't. He was going to live another 60 years _at least_, and anyone who argued differently, including Chuck himself, was going to have to deal with her. And she really wasn't in the mood right now for another Chuck/Sarah discussion about feelings. It was taking everything she had to hold herself together, if he started talking about how he felt about her, she'd just completely lose it.

Sarah softened and smiled at Chuck gently, her hand moving up to brush against his forehead and cheek. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to say that. I just mean, you're not going to die, Chuck. So there's no need for you to say anything, okay?" She waited for some kind of response, but Chuck seemed only capable of moving his lips into voiceless words. So she continued on, as if he had responded. "You're going to live a very long time, and get married, and have a family, and finally finish that five year plan."

He managed to give her a small smile and it was amazing how much that was enough to wipe so many of her negative thoughts away. He sucked in a deep breath, face contorting in pain as he did so, but he managed to finally complete a full sentence, "I was going to say, I think you should check the bomb, but thank you." And then he smiled a full Chuck Bartowski smile, and Sarah could have cried right then and there in utter relief.

"Oh." She didn't care that she was blushing or that she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from his face. "The bomb."

Chuck nodded. He sucked in another breath, and Sarah frowned; could the man never stop talking? Why was he doing this to himself? "Being blown up by a bomb is not nearly as cool as saying I survived being shot by a Chechen arms smuggler."

Sarah rolled her eyes, but smiled at him and felt her hand caress his face again. "Okay, I can take a hint." She grabbed Chuck's left hand and pulled it across his chest to where she was still holding pieces of his torn up shirt. "You press down hard and don't stop, okay? Just hold it there and don't you dare move. If I find out you've moved even an inch you're going to wish you'd gotten blown up by the bomb." She could not express in words just how absolutely serious she was, so she hoped her eyes were conveying the message adequately. By the somber and scared look on Chuck's face, she figured he got it. With a last second look at his face, she started to stand up.

Chuck's hand wrapped firmly around her forearm and she let out an exasperated sigh. He was unbelievable! He never listened to her. Giving him her best pissed off glare, she moved to pull his hand off her arm and put it back to where it belonged. Chuck spoke before she completed the motion. "I just want you to know, that when I think of myself old and married, with a family and a happy life, all I can see is you."

Sarah had no response for that, and fortunately, she could see in Chuck's eyes that he knew that and expected none. She swallowed harshly, blinked her eyes several times, and then nodded her head. She stood up, made sure he put his left hand on his bandage, and walked away. Sometimes, very rarely, when she actually believed that she might have a future to call her own, she saw the same thing Chuck did, and _that_ was when she was at her happiest.

"What's got you grinning like an idiot?" Sarah looked up in surprise to see Casey scowling at her. "Oh God, you two didn't declare your undying love for each other, did you?"

Sarah glared at Casey and walked over the crate containing the bomb. "Actually, he wanted me to check on the bomb."

Casey looked at her very skeptically. "I'm shocked you could even tear yourself away long enough to do your job, especially considering how hard it was for you to do that before the kid got shot in the first place."

Sarah stopped and forced herself to take a calming breath. She knew Casey was only lashing out at her, whether because he was genuinely concerned for Chuck or because he was upset the mission had taken such a negative turn, but there was only so much she was willing to put up at the moment. And Casey questioning her devotion to her job, to _Chuck_, was unacceptable at the moment. It was bad enough she already blamed herself, she didn't need Casey piling on, even if he was right. "Shut up, Casey."

"Looks like I hit a nerve."

Sarah formed her hands into fists and took a step toward Casey. At this point in time, she would have no compunction against just beating the shit out of her partner. At least she knew he could take it. "Shut up, Casey." Her voice was deadly serious.

Casey stared at her for a very long moment and she could see a whirlwind of emotions course through his eyes. His bluster and anger deflated and he muttered under his breath, "Sorry."

She barely heard him, but it was enough, and all the tension evaporated from her body. "Come on, we need to check on the bomb."

The sound of sirens approached rapidly, and Sarah looked over her shoulder to make sure Chuck was still okay. His hand was where it was supposed to be and he was watching her and Casey with a half-lidded, exhausted look on his face. She smiled briefly at him, relieved that he was still awake, but worried at the sudden lifelessness she saw. It was clear he was finding it increasingly difficult to stay alert and cogent. The look gave her a new spurt of energy and she turned to the crate, her knife flashing in her hand as she began working on the crate lid. They needed to get this dealt with so she could go back to looking after Chuck. She knew how to keep his attention. "How do you want to handle this?"

"I think we should wait for the bomb squad."

"For all we know, one of these guys," Sarah nodded her head in the direction of the dead man in black, "could have had some kind of remote detonator. It could go off any second."

"You really want to risk messing with the bomb with the kid so near by?" Casey arched an eye brow and looked pointedly at her.

That was a total low blow and Casey knew it. Sarah glared mercilessly at Casey and moved her hands to her hips. How the hell was she supposed to argue with that? "We need to make sure." Even she thought she sounded pathetic.

"And I say we wait. Bartowski ain't exactly in the best shape to be tinkering with bombs in case something goes wrong."

Just then, an ambulance pulled up, lights flashing. It screeched to a halt and people were already jumping out of the back. Sarah took one look at them and felt any desire to continue arguing leave her body. "Fine, you deal with it. I'm going to help Chuck."

"Of course you are." Sarah was no longer paying attention to Casey, or anything else for that matter. All she cared about at that moment was getting Chuck on board the ambulance and safely to a hospital.

She pulled up short when she saw Chuck. His eyes were closed; the paramedics were hovering all around him, arms and hands flitting around his body like angry bees, as they shouted words she didn't quite understand. They sounded tense and urgent, and that was enough to make everything around her blur into the background. She could see nothing but Chuck's body, stained like a rose, still and unmoving.

* * *

**Note**: One more chapter to go! 


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thank you to my reviewers. It's awesome seeing how much people enjoy what I've written. This chapter completes this little saga and I only hope I did the characters justice and managed to entertain. Enjoy!

* * *

Sarah didn't care that she was pacing. She didn't care that Casey was looking annoyed and on the brink of making a snide remark. She didn't care about anything but Chuck. Not the mission, not her cover, and certainly not if Casey approved of her emotional attachment. She was desperately trying not to care. She was beginning to feel that her sanity depended on her not caring. Yet she knew that not caring about Chuck was impossible at this point. She had no idea how Chuck was doing, or even if he was actually still alive, and it was eating her up inside. He had been in surgery far too long as far as she was concerned. 

"Sit down, Walker."

"One of us should be there with him."

"That would be kind of hard seeing how neither of us are doctors."

Sarah stopped abruptly and glared at Casey. How could he sit there so calmly, like it didn't matter at all to him whether or not Chuck lived or died? She figured he'd at least care about the continuation of the Intersect, but Casey's detached calm was maddening to her. How could he _not_ care? "Doesn't it bother you even a little bit?"

Casey shrugged and ran a hand along the side of his head, fingers threading his cropped hair. For the first time, Sarah noticed how weary her partner's eyes looked. She began feeling bad almost immediately. Maybe she had misjudged him. "Regardless of how I feel, I can't make the doctors work any faster or prevent Bartowski from dying."

Sarah shut her eyes hard and clenched a fist. He just had to use that word. She was refusing to even let herself consider that word a possibility. "That doesn't make it any easier."

"It never is when your partner gets hurt."

Sarah snorted in disbelief, but her eyes danced mischievously. She smiled teasingly at Casey, walking over to sit beside him in the uncomfortable plastic waiting room chairs. "Did you just call Chuck your partner?"

"Absolutely not. I was talking about being in your situation."

Sarah grinned and felt some of the weight pressing down on her lighten. It was good to feel relaxed, even for only a minute. "I can't wait to tell Chuck. He'll be so happy."

Casey grunted and added on a scowl for good measure. It only made Sarah smile wider. "I'll admit the kid's not as annoying as he used to be. He just needs to learn to _listen_." Sarah couldn't really argue with that.

The two agents became silent; Sarah's thoughts automatically drifted back to Chuck. She had finally reached a breaking point when she saw Chuck unmoving as the paramedics worked on him. It was too much; there was only so much she could take. First Chuck left his hiding place, then he got shot, and now he was looking like he was dead? It was just one blow to her already shaky control after another. It only made sense that she had thought the worst and found herself sliding along the spectrum of complete panic and fear to a near total system wide shut down. She had crawled inside of herself, letting everything fade away, not caring about anything. If Chuck was gone, then what did it matter? After all, it was her fault he was gone, her fault that he'd never see his friends and family again. That'd she never see his smile or hear him laugh. It was her fault that her world, her way of life, had finally destroyed Chuck Bartowski for good. All that she had fought for, as hard as she had tried to protect him from the real and uncaring world she lived in, was in vain.

And then she had heard one of the paramedics say the words that snapped her out of her stupor: "weak pulse". Chuck was still alive and she realized how ridiculous she was being. Chuck wasn't gone yet and she was sliding back into the unprofessional woman that had gotten Chuck in this mess to begin with. After that, she became Sarah Walker, special agent with the CIA, again. Thinking of herself as anything other than that was no longer acceptable. Granted, as she found the wait to find out information on Chuck's condition become increasingly unbearable, she discovered that being the detached agent was easier said than done. She was slowly beginning to realize that she was far too invested in Chuck for her to ever sever her ties to him.

Casey snapped her back to the harsh reality of their situation. "We need to come up with some kind of plan."

"I was thinking of a mugging." God, the thought of having to explain to Ellie what had happened to her brother was almost as terrifying as losing Chuck.

"Mugging is too cliché." Casey stared at the floor. "Car jacking gone wrong, it's more L.A."

"Who the hell would try to steal the Nerdmobile?" Sarah gawked at Casey in disbelief.

"Hell if I know. You have a better idea?"

"We could always tell them the truth." Sarah knew the suggestion was ridiculous as soon as the words left her mouth. It would never happen. But the idea of lying to Ellie about something as important as the life of her brother was incredibly unpleasant to her. She _liked_ Ellie. She liked everyone who was connected to Chuck in some way, even Morgan. She didn't want to lie to them, to use their trust of her against them. But she knew she had to, because that was her job. Sarah couldn't help feeling nauseous; how did her job come to represent everything she found distasteful in life? Goddamn Chuck Bartowski.

"I meant something reasonable."

"I don't know. I don't think it'll matter much once she finds out." They both knew who the hard sale would be.

"Still, when things calm down, she'll want real answers."

Sarah sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She was exhausted. "I'll think of something." She reluctantly pushed herself to her feet. She knew she should have done this sooner, and that if Ellie ever found out she had waited to call her, the older woman would probably never forgive her, but Sarah just didn't want to do this. "I guess I'll make the call now."

"Make sure you change afterward."

"Huh?" Sarah looked down at her partner, boggled and more than a little out of sorts.

"Your clothes, they're covered in blood."

Sarah blinked and slowly forced her eyes downward to see that her clothes were in fact marred with Chuck's blood. Just how tired was she? How had she not noticed this before? She didn't even remember doing anything that would have gotten the blood on her. This new revelation did not bode well for her continued sanity. Quietly, very sickly, she whispered, "I had no idea."

Casey nodded at her curtly, and actually managed to almost smile sympathetically at her. "The blood will probably make whatever story you come up with more convincing, but it's likely to freak her out. Besides, you look terrible." Casey stood up and awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed for the briefest of seconds, and then his gruff exterior was back full bore. "I had one of the other agents arrange a change of clothing for you."

Sarah didn't know what to say. This was totally unlike what she was used to. "Thank you."

Casey stiffened, his eyes hard and moving from one end of the long hospital corridor to the other, apparently scanning for potential threats. "After you call Bartowski's sister, you should probably try to get some rest. I don't want you screwing up your story because you were too tired to think straight."

"I'll try." She stared at her partner curiously for a few seconds before she walked away, pulling out her cell phone. This was probably going to be one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

* * *

There's that old cliché that being doped up on painkillers is like floating on a cloud. It wasn't quite like floating on a cloud, but it was pretty damn close. He felt disjointed, removed, and very tired. Every second was a struggle to stay awake, but he found the strain lessened with each passing second. He had never felt so lightheaded in his life (it was almost like they had decapitated him and placed his head next to his body). He had no idea what kind of drugs were coursing through his body, but whatever they were, they were _awesome_. Chuck smiled dopily at the thought. He had never really been one for pharmaceutical recreation, but he could understand the appeal. At least, he thought he did. It really was hard to concentrate on a single thought for very long.

He tried to lift his head, to survey his immediate area, but as soon as he did, everything went crazy. He quickly lowered his head back onto his rough pillow, eyes wide. "Wow."

Chuck didn't know where he was, what was wrong with him, or why he felt so poofy (cloud-like); he had a vague memory dancing along the periphery of his consciousness, but most everything was a blurry blank. He figured everything had to be okay, because everything felt so good (sounded logical to him). He wasn't sure he liked the cool feeling that suddenly coursed through his left arm, but he felt a little more content afterwards, so it was probably for the best.

"Chuck?"

Chuck thought he heard a voice, but it might have just been the air talking to him. "That's me."

"Chuck?" His name was repeated again; this time it sounded a little more urgent and excited.

"That's me." Why was the air repeating its question? He was getting annoyed. "I said I'm here, what do you want?"

"Oh my God." Now the air sounded relieved and happy. At least he thought it did, it was a little difficult to classify emotions at the moment. "You're awake!"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Then he tried to move his body, but it only felt like trying to move a river and he laughed. "I feel weird." The speaking air coalesced into a vision of his sister, dark hair spreading out like tendrils in the sky, and worry carved into her eyes. "Hey, you look like Ellie."

The effervescent Ellie cried onto his ill-fitting hospital gown and Chuck frowned. "I'm so happy you're awake. I was really worried about you."

"I'm fine. I can't really feel anything, but I'm fine." Chuck chuckled and poked his stomach to emphasize his point. He shook his head, which provoked a wave of dizziness, which caused him to blink his eyes rapidly and groan. He recovered quickly and smiled in reassurance at Ellie.

Ellie appraised him before she smiled indulgently and nodded her head in agreement. "When I first heard what happened, I was so scared."

"I'm not going anywhere, I don't think." Chuck frowned again and tried to shift his body, but not much happened. "Although I can't really move, so that's kind of beside the point."

Arms wrapped around him and hugged him very carefully. Ellie sobbed and laughed at the same time. "I think you've had a little too much morphine."

"That's what this stuff is?" Chuck managed to lift his left hand enough to awkwardly rub Ellie's arm. "Don't tell Awesome but I think it's awesome."

Ellie smiled wide and laughed, squeezing his left hand with her own. "I promise to keep it just between us."

"Why do I feel funny, Ellie?"

Ellie pulled back slightly and looked at him steadily. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Yes." Chuck frowned and contorted his face into an over exaggerated expression of confusion. "Wait, maybe?"

Ellie smiled gently and nodded her head slowly. "You got shot, Chuck." She paused and sucked in a breath, her eyes closed. She spoke slowly, every word coming out unwillingly. "The bullet nicked your renal artery and you had some internal bleeding. They were concerned they might have to perform a nephrectomy, but fortunately, once they started fixing you up, they realized the damage was relatively minor." Ellie paused and moistened her lips. Chuck only stared up at her in confused awe (his sister was smart). "You also had minor fractures along your fourth and fifth rib, although how that happened I'm not exactly sure." Ellie opened her eyes and stared hard at Chuck. "You were very lucky."

Chuck nodded his head solemnly. He hadn't really understood much of what his sister had just told him, but he knew enough to be grateful for his continued existence. "I feel fuzzy, Ellie. I don't think I like it, it makes it hard to think right."

"I know, sweetie. That's the painkillers they have you on. Trust me, you don't want them to go away right now."

"Okay." Chuck smiled and lifted his hand to grab Ellie's. He squeezed and Ellie squeezed back. Chuck's eyes widened as a memory came flooding back to him. "Sarah! Is she okay?"

Ellie's face softened and she nodded her head. "Sarah is perfectly fine. She had some moderate bruising along her chest but she's going to be fine in a week or two."

"Can I see her?"

"Sure, she's waiting outside with Devon and Morgan."

"Is she mad at me?"

"Why would she be mad at you? She told me you saved her." Ellie looked as if Chuck had just asked the most ludicrous thing in the world.

"I don't remember that, but I do remember her being mad at me."

"Well, you can ask her yourself when she comes see you."

Ellie stood up and walked away, giving Chuck one last smile. Chuck closed his eyes and waited for Sarah to visit. Time had no meaning for him. With the numbing effects of the morphine running through his veins, it was hard to keep a steady head. He was feeling less tired and more alert and aware of his surroundings than he had been only ten minutes ago, but it was still hard to maintain concentration. He figured it would be some time before the exhaustion he felt went away. It wasn't as fun being doped up as he originally thought. He was not himself, he felt defenseless. It was one of the reasons why he had a strong urge to see Sarah. She would make him feel safe. He was familiar with her in a way that unnerved and confused him, but he couldn't help but feel comfortable around her (when she wasn't making him nervous as hell with her proximity).

The door to his hospital room opened and closed. "Sarah?" Chuck forced himself to sit up partially, a rush of euphoric dizziness overcoming him briefly before he felt stable again. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Chuck, it's me." Her voice was barely audible.

"You're too far away." Sarah was, in fact, too far away. She was standing just in front of the door, hands behind her back. Chuck figured she must be holding onto the handle of the door.

With a loud sigh, Sarah began taking measured steps forward. "I just – I really don't know what to say."

"Are you okay? Ellie told me you were hurt."

"Of course I'm fine. It's you everyone's worried about."

"I feel great."

Sarah laughed, but it sounded very forced, and her face morphed into stone barely a second later. "Ellie told me that you were kind of out of it."

"I'm just glad you're here. You make me feel better."

Sarah shut her eyes tightly and stopped moving. She was shaking slightly and Chuck was getting worried. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She was curt and distant.

"You don't look fine."

"Well I am!" Her eyes flew open and she glared at Chuck harshly, angrily.

"Okay." Chuck sunk into his bed. He felt like a puppy that had just gotten its nose smacked for peeing on the carpet.

"I am just so angry with you."

"I _told_ Ellie you were mad at me, but she didn't believe me!"

Sarah took two large strides and came to a stop near the foot of his bed. She was pissed; it was the kind of anger Chuck rarely saw, and it was the kind of look only someone who truly cared for you could pull off. Chuck had experienced it a few times in his life, every single time Ellie growing infuriated with him for doing something ridiculous and almost getting himself killed (like trying to "enhance" his 486 for extra performance while the machine was still plugged in. He was 10 at the time, how smart were you at that age?). It was a mix of how could you be so stupid? and do you have any idea how terrified you just made me? and most importantly, oh my God, I'm so unbelievably happy you're okay. That was the look on Sarah's face and it both scared and pleased Chuck.

"I'm going to ask for a reassignment."

Chuck knew it was comical, but his mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged at Sarah's words. "Wow, okay, I didn't think you were that mad."

"I can't do this anymore, Chuck. You don't listen to me, and you never do what you're supposed to do."

"Like letting you get shot?"

"Yes! That's exactly what you're supposed to do!" Sarah started to pace in front of Chuck, but her motions were ragged and her back and shoulders rigid.

"Excuse me if I find the idea of you being shot absolutely horrible."

"And how the hell do you think I feel?"

Chuck let all his building anger drift away. He sat up as best he could, and paused to suck in a sharp intake of breath as his chest tightened and ached, but the drugs in his system quickly overwhelmed the uncomfortable sensation. He adjusted his bed to the appropriate height and stared at Sarah levelly. For the first time since she walked in, he did his best to look at her critically. She looked awful (which was no small feat). She had the beginning of bags under her eyes, her hair looked limp and lifeless, her body was stiff and robotic, and every sudden or energetic move she made caused her to subtly wince in pain. It was her eyes, though, that worried him most. They looked – not quite dead – but empty of warmth and filled with so much pain and self-loathing. He knew she was taking this hard, that she was blaming herself and would probably continue to blame herself no matter what he said. But Chuck had an undeniable compulsion to protect and care for her emotional well-being, much like she felt the same for his physical well-being (Chuck admired the symmetry, they both clung to what they were best at). He wanted to take away her pain, to shoulder some of the burden, and make her see that he would never be better off with her away.

Chuck took in a calming breath and prepared himself for just letting it all out. "I don't know what you want me to say, Sarah. I did what I had to do, what I felt was right. Because the fact of the matter is, that's who I am, and you know it, and I know it, and hell, I'm sure even Casey knows it. Did pushing you out of the way have to do with how – how I feel about you? I'm not going to lie and say it didn't, because the idea of you getting shot, you possibly dying? Not gonna happen if I can help it, and if it means putting myself in your place, then that's just how it's going to be." Chuck stopped and felt himself a little winded. His arm cooled briefly and he felt a rush of bliss. He struggled to maintain his concentration. "Still, I would have done the same if it had been Ellie or Morgan or Awesome or maybe even Casey. That's me." Chuck paused and a smile slowly expanded on his face, his eyes a little unfocused. "Well, I mean, I'd try with Casey, but have you seen him, he's like a mountain!"

"I can't do it, Chuck. I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because!" Sarah was no longer angry but simply desperate. Chuck could see the begging in her eyes for him to make this easy for her. But Chuck had no intention of doing that now.

Chuck wasn't sure if it was the drugs that gave him the sudden courage (or they could have just dulled his inhibitions and sense of self-preservation) or the nature of the situation, but Chuck said, "I think if you're going to run away, you should at least give me a legitimate reason why."

"I – I – you – " Sarah sputtered, her eyes wide and a little wild. Chuck had never seen her look so flustered before.

Chuck grinned self-deprecatingly. "Yeah, I can't believe I just said that either. It's these drugs, they're evil."

Sarah completely deflated at Chuck's words and took a seat in the chair next to his bed. She leaned forward until her head was resting on Chuck's leg, her eyes closed. Chuck wasn't sure how to react to her sudden shift in mood, but he knew that he wanted to touch her (he normally would have resisted the impulse). He reached out with his hand and placed it gently on her head, his fingers slowly moving up and down her hair. She sighed. "I didn't do my job today."

Chuck nodded, not because he agreed with her, but because he knew that this was coming. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine."

"No." Sarah slowly raised her head, her face wan but dotted with red splotches. Chuck's hand was resting against her cheek now. "I mean, yes it was." At this she looked pointedly at Chuck. "But that's beside the point. It should have never gotten to the point it did. I should have never let it. I let you distract me, I let my emotions get in the way."

"I never saw him either."

"It's not your job too."

"It's not your job either." Sarah immediately opened her mouth to retort and Chuck quickly held up a hand to forestall any argument. "I mean, it's not just _your_ job. It's Casey's job as well and today it was a team effort all around. You can't hold yourself responsible for everything that goes wrong, especially when I have a tendency to ignore you." Chuck smiled wide, letting the drugs go a little to his head in order to make his amusement easier to express (and also more innocent).

Sarah laughed weakly, very weakly, but Chuck felt content. It was a good start. "But Chuck – but you could have – you almost died." Sarah definitely seemed to have a problem with getting her sentences out in one piece.

"Nah, I wasn't worried."

Sarah blinked in surprise. "You weren't?"

"Nope. You told me I was going to be fine, that I would live and have a future, and I believed you." Chuck cocked his head and tried not to smile. "Granted, I was delirious with pain, but it sounded good at the time."

"Oh."

Chuck reached out with his left hand and held it out in the air; he was waiting for Sarah to grab hold of it. He didn't have to wait long and Sarah's warm hand intertwined her fingers with his. Chuck looked directly into Sarah's eyes. "I trust you, Sarah." Sarah looked away but Chuck kept his gaze steady (it was difficult to focus, but he made the effort). "If you leave, who will I trust then?"

"Casey."

"It's not the same and you know why."

Sarah sighed and nodded her head reluctantly. "I know."

"Look, I'll make a deal with you. If you can tell me that leaving me in the hands of some poor, unsuspecting stranger, would make me better off than being in your very capable and smooth hands, then I won't argue with you over this whole reassignment idea anymore."

Chuck felt the exhaustion that he had so far managed to keep at bay suddenly overcome him (he never realized talking could be such hard work) and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. It was so unexpected that he barely managed to stay alert. He was already on a limited energy reserve and with his body becoming so comfortably numb through constant medication, it was time to shut down and let the repairs get underway. He turned his head to check out the status of his IV. It was nearly depleted which both pleased him and made him apprehensive (he really didn't like the idea of writhing in pain for a second time that day). Maybe sleep wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Chuck?"

Chuck turned back to look at Sarah confused. "Huh?"

"Are you okay?"

Chuck yawned. "I'm just suddenly tired for some reason."

Sarah smiled softly at him and stood up from her chair. "I should leave so you can sleep."

"Wait, you never answered me."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Chuck."

Chuck wanted to protest that that wasn't really an answer, but he just couldn't do it. He smiled and watched her leave his room. He was asleep soon after.

* * *

Sarah quietly shut the door behind her and rubbed the palms of both her hands into her eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair and adjusted her clothing. She knew she looked horrible, and that nothing she could do now would make that any different, but she hated looking so discomposed. She didn't even care that looking crappy would only help her cover with Ellie and the others; she wanted some part of her normal, understandable, life back. She sucked in a deep breath and walked down the hallway where she knew the others were still waiting.

Casey came upon her unexpectedly, grabbing her arm and pulling her off into some empty room. She really was off her game, she hadn't even heard or seen him coming. "Casey?

Casey glared at her and tightened his grip on her arm. "Why the hell did you tell Ellie Bartowski that it was me who saved Chuck's life?"

Sarah snorted and removed Casey's hand from her arm. She tried hard not to grin. "You know what they say, every good lie has some truth behind it."

"She won't leave me alone! She's insisting that when Chuck gets out of here that she throws me some kind of thank you party." Casey folded his arms across his chest and looked expectantly at Sarah. "I've tried to tell her that it's not necessary but that woman is relentless."

Sarah smirked and stood up a little straighter. "You told me to come up with something, so I did."

"I said something _reasonable_." Casey grunted in disgust. "Telling her that I stopped some guy from robbing the Wienerlicious with a bottle of ketchup is not reasonable."

Sarah tried to make herself stay serious, but a few chuckles escaped her stoic façade. "I thought Chuck would appreciate it."

Casey rolled his eyes and grunted. He pulled his arms even closer to his chest, making his biceps bulge even more than usual. "Next time I'm going to make up the damn cover story." Casey glared at her one last time and stomped out of the room.

Once Casey was gone, Sarah let herself smile and laugh out loud, most of it a release of tension. Her cover story had come to her literally while she was dialing Ellie's number. She had just let the words come tumbling out of her mouth as she formed them in her head. Normally, she would have never created a cover story so haphazardly, but she had been too out of it to put serious thought behind the endeavor. Surprisingly, the story had ended up sounding more convincing than she had expected. A robbery gone wrong; it had seemed the easiest and most likely explanation for why Chuck had been shot. He had been in the Wiernerlicious visiting her, when some methhead stormed into the place and demanded she hand over all the money. Of course something had gone wrong, of course Chuck got in the way, and he'd been shot because the methhead had a nervous trigger finger. After that, she added the ketchup bottle detail because she knew it'd bother Casey, and Ellie had accepted the whole thing at face value. It had troubled her how easily she found herself lying to Ellie, but she knew that it was for her own good. It was the only thing that consoled her about the whole affair.

Sarah combed her hair with her hand a few more times and walked back to the hallway. She only had to go a few more feet before she reached Ellie, Devon, Morgan, and a still annoyed Casey, standing noticeably distant from Ellie. Sarah smirked at that and came to a halt in front of Ellie. She knew Ellie would want a progress report. "I think he's asleep."

"Good. The more sleep he gets, the better." Ellie stood up quickly, gave her a critical eye, and then wrapped her in a hug. She whispered into Sarah's ear, "I'm so happy that he has someone like you to look after him."

Sarah hugged Ellie back, stiffly at first, but after a little she became more natural. It was so nice to be treated like a member of the family, any family, and to know that there were people out there who actually cared about _her_, and not about what she could do for them. "I'm just happy he's going to be okay."

Ellie nodded her head and tightened her hold. "Thank you for being there for him. I just – I don't know what I'd do if something happened to him."

Sarah knew exactly how Ellie felt, because she felt the same way. The idea of losing Chuck was unfathomable to her at this point. She was far too invested. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, and neither is he."

And she realized that she wasn't, and he most definitely was not either. She would have to change how she did things that was for sure. No more getting distracted on missions, no more letting her emotions get the best of her. She knew at this point it was impossible to remove them completely, so she would have to learn to minimize their impact. But there was no way she could ever trust anyone else with protecting Chuck. No way. It was her job and Chuck was her responsibility, and if something were to ever happen to Chuck because she wasn't there to protect him, to help him, to even just hold his hand and reassure him that everything would be okay and there was no need to freak out, she'd never be able to forgive herself.

Sarah pulled back from Ellie and smiled. "Actually, I think I'm going to go back and sit with him for a little while more."

Ellie gave her another quick hug and there was a knowing look in her eyes that made Sarah blush. "I understand."

Sarah turned around and walked back down the hallway to Chuck's room.

* * *

**The End!**


End file.
